No food but pepper spray -- Gazan women endure ordeal at U.S.-backed aid center

GAZA, July 25 (Xinhua) -- In the searing midday sun on Friday, 45-year-old Salwa Abu Ismail trudged across broken pavement and sandy paths toward the U.S.-backed aid center west of Rafah, her hands trembling and her breath shallow.

She hadn't eaten a full meal in days, and her children hadn't either.

"They said today was for women," she whispered, recalling the moment she saw the social media post from the U.S.-backed Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF).

It was the first time the GHF had promised a women-only distribution.

"For once, I thought I could go without fear. I thought we'd be treated gently," she said.

But reality shattered that hope.

Salwa and some others told Xinhua that they were first welcomed at the gate, then suddenly ordered to leave. Some tried to explain. Others hesitated. Then came the shouting and the spray.

"I couldn't open my eyes. My face burned. My hands too," she said, crying. "Then came the gas. I couldn't breathe. Women were screaming. Some fainted."

The crowd was made up of mothers, grandmothers, and girls, many of whom had walked kilometers barefoot. All had one thing in common: they were hungry, not just mildly hungry, but starving.

Among them was 62-year-old Faiza Irshi, who suffers from high blood pressure and diabetes.

She had not planned to go as her legs often give out after just a few steps. But that morning, her youngest grandchild cried from hunger, and she could not bear it.

"I told myself, even if I collapse, I will bring food home," she said, her voice full of quiet dignity.

She walked slowly, pausing every few meters to catch her breath. When she reached the center, she found herself among hundreds of women, waiting in long lines under the sun, dust sticking to their skin.

"We asked the workers when the boxes would arrive," she said. "No one answered. Then they told us to leave. We couldn't understand why. Some women spoke up, politely. And then the pepper spray."

Faiza was sprayed in the back and shoulders. She clutched her scarf to her face as others began coughing, weeping, and falling to the ground.

"I've lived through wars. I've seen homes collapse," she said. "But this broke my heart. I never imagined we would suffer like this for food."

Videos shared online showed women collapsing from heat and exhaustion near the GHF aid site. Others held onto one another for support, their faces pale, their lips dry. Some carried empty pots, hoping to fill them. Others carried children on their backs.

Since March 2, humanitarian access to Gaza has been severely restricted. More than 1,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli forces since May while trying to get food in Gaza, mostly near the GHF sites, according to the United Nations.

Although some trucks loaded with humanitarian aid have resumed, they are far short of what is needed. According to Gaza's health authorities on Friday, 122 people, most of them children, have died from hunger and malnutrition.

The suffering is widespread, but it is women and children who often carry the heaviest burden, not just of hunger, but of humiliation.

"We didn't ask for luxury," Mariam Ali, another woman who had to head to GHF site in Rafah to get food for her five children, told Xinhua, saying, "Just a box of food. Just something to keep our children alive."

In the makeshift tent she now calls home, Mariam has nothing but a small mattress and a pot with dry lentils.

Her youngest son, 8-year-old Ali, often asks for bread at night before sleeping. She has no answer to give.

"He doesn't understand what starvation means. He just thinks I forgot to cook," she said.

The war, which began on Oct. 7, 2023, has taken a staggering toll on Gaza. More than 59,000 Palestinians have been killed in Israeli military operations, and nearly every family has lost someone.

Most of the population has been displaced, living now in tents, schools, or the open air.

In these uncertain days, women like Faiza, Salwa and Mariam have been through much.

"I went to get food," Faiza said. "But I came back with wounds I cannot explain."

As the sun set over Rafah, many of the women began their long walk back, most empty-handed, some holding onto one another for balance.

"In the end, we will survive," Salwa said, placing a hand on her chest. ■